


Cover Story

by emmaliza



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Dynamics, Public Sex, Sex Club, Undercover As Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:55:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27697274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmaliza/pseuds/emmaliza
Summary: Avon and Tarrant look for an ally in a seedy location. When two old schoolmates of Tarrant's enter, they have to think fast.
Relationships: Kerr Avon/Del Tarrant
Comments: 4
Kudos: 7





	Cover Story

Dr. Haversen cannot reasonably be accused of snobbery.

It's admirable, in a way, a man of such wealth and position being willing to patronise an establishment as grimy and downtrodden as this, but you'd think he might be able to something about their lighting in that case. Although maybe it's for the best. He and Avon are trying not to be seen, secluded against a shadowy wall keeping an eye out for when Dr. Haversen might wander in - or this planet's troopers. The sound of moans and gasps from their fellow clubgoers is distracting enough without being able to see what's causing those noises clearly.

Of course, also distracting is the fact it's _Avon_ here with him, hand curled possessively over his hip, lest anyone else think he's available for public appreciation. It's all an act, of course, to make them look like the rest of the patrons, nothing more dangerous than a couple of sexual deviants, but it has been awhile since either of them received a warm touch - not that anything about Avon can be called warm - and it's hard not to show some physical enjoyment, try as he might not to. Tarrant shouldn't have volunteered to come, really, but none of them trusted Vila not to get distracted in a place like this and he couldn't in good conscience make one of the girls do it.

Tarrant is in the midst of rueing this, and the uncomfortable stiffness between his legs that he's busily trying to keep Avon from noticing without being suspiciously far from him, when he hears the door open. Quickly, he looks back over his shoulder to investigate. Not Dr. Haversen - troopers. Instinctively Tarrant reaches for his gun, but it's alright, they knew this was a risk. So long as they don't shoot first they should be alright--

Sunlight follows the two men in, and Tarrant gets a good look at one of their faces. _Fuck. Gibson._

If Gibson is here then Darter can't be far behind, and yes, Tarrant thinks that's him, the only boy at the Academy taller and lankier than him. "Alright, nothing to worry about folks, routine inspection," Gibson announces with a grin - the same crude, lecherous one he used to give Major Distania, the only woman in their dome. "Carry on as usual."

In a hurry Tarrant turns back around before they notice him staring, but that won't do anything about the footsteps headed in his direction. Without many options and without much thinking, he presses his lips against Avon's with haste.

Avon seems surprised, undoubtedly, but not as unwelcoming as Tarrant would have expected. The fingers caressing his side tighten. Avon bites, slightly, at his lower lip, and when Tarrant has to pull up for air he seems bemused. "I suppose you think we must perform convincingly for the critics?" he asks. "That, or your little problem has gotten out of hand, and now you need help."

Damn, he did notice. Turning red, Tarrant tries hare to focus. "I know them, Avon," he hisses. "We were at the FSA together. They'll recognise me if they see my face."

Avon doesn't visibly react, but Tarrant's known him long enough to recognise the dread in his eyes. "Ah."

Burying his face against Avon's neck, Tarrant asks: "What do we do? Should I head back to Scorpio?"

Avon scoffs. "And confirm your identity as one of the few people in the galaxy with access to teleport technology? I think not." Alright, a fair point. He's not sure he wants Avon to find Dr. Haversen on his own anyway. "You need to hide your face, right?" Avon muses. Tarrant nods against the crook of his neck. "Then kneel."

At first Tarrant is sure he must have misheard that, but Avon kicks him gently in the shin and onto his knees he goes. Avon wastes no time grabbing him by his curls and pulling him closer, face pressed against a swelling bulge in Avon's leather trousers. His cheeks burn hotter, equal parts embarrassed and indignant. Oh, no doubt Avon is all too thrilled to have an excuse to humiliate him like this. To put him in his place. Perhaps he's been planning this awhile - but he probably didn't think Tarrant would just hand himself over like this. Fuck.

Tarrant wants to make a protest, but there's no time, with the trooper's bootsteps circling him like a shark - Avon's right, he has to hide his face somehow, and it would look suspicious to be more reluctant to perform with his ostensible lover than anyone else who visits this establishment. He's nervous, but he forces his fingers not to shake as he slides Avon's zip open. _If he tells any of the others, I'll blast him in his sleep._

Avon wears no underwear beneath his black leather, which cannot be comfortable. Tarrant tries to keep his thoughts on such practical maters as that, to distance himself from the act he's performing, but it's no use. Avon, for all his pretense of being a creature of pure reason (a pretense that grows weaker by the day), is a man like any other, and the taste of his cock is sharp and overwhelming when Tarrant finally wraps his lips around it. It's like everything tightens, or sharpens inside him, his body roused to the point of breaking.

He tries to remain calm, to make it look to all observers that he';s done this a thousand times before, that having part of Avon inside him doesn't fill him with fear and some other strange feeling he can't put a name to. Avon isn't shy about folding his fingers through his hair, pulling him down further - Tarrant tells himself that's just practical; his curls are one of his most distinctive features, and Avon wants to hide them from his ex-schoolmates as much as possible. He hopes.

Avon cannot think he's afraid, and so Tarrant pushes himself onward, teeth tucked behind his lips and taking Avon as deep as he dares. Avon sighs, his nails scratching lightly against Tarrant's scalp, which must be as much appreciation as he lets himself show any lover (not that that's the right word for what they are). Tarrant's skin buzzes with - pride, he supposes it must be. He does want Avon to enjoy this, for unclear motive. Well he reasons, he is the one giving pleasure, while Avon merely has to take it. He is in control here, as much as it might look otherwise.

Maybe.

He's honestly forgotten the troopers until their heavy boots come to a stop right behind him. "Oh, he's a pretty one," Gibson comments crudely, and Tarrant flushes, feeling just like one Major Distania, and the younger boys who used to be the target of Gibson's unchivalrous instincts. Avon pushes him down further in haste - a ploy to hide him, yes, but it leaves Tarrant choking on his cock. "I don't suppose he's the sort who'd let himself be offered to a loyal Federation officer?"

Tarrant freezes. It's not like he has any reason to think Avon would accept such an offer, but the fact it's being made unnerves him thoroughly. Avon's claws dig in his skin, until he hisses over the length in his mouth. He can hear the sneer in Avon's voice when he answers:

"I don't _share_."

He sneaks a glance upward. It's too dark to see Avon's face, but Tarrant can't help but wonder that if he could, would he see the flame of jealous rage in his eyes?

To his relief, Gibson and Darter seem to share a bemused look and move on. Body unwinding from the tension, Tarrant sinks back into the rhythm, Avon sliding like silk against his lips.

Avon twists a hand firmly in his curls. "Tarrant. They're gone. You can stop now."

He pauses, Avon throbbing against his tongue, and pulls himself upward, a thin string of saliva tying him to Avon. "What, do you think it will look less suspicious if we cease to be lovers the moment the troops aren't looking?" he asks. "You put me in this position, Avon, and I intend to see it through to the end. If you feel guilty about it that's your problem, not mine."

For a moment Avon honestly seems lost for words, and Tarrant takes advantage of that rare occurrence to swallow him back down before he has time to protest. He ignores the burn of arousal throughout his body. Animal instinct takes over, slipping his lips and winding his tongue around Avon like he really has done this a thousand times before.

At least, Avon seems to have given himself permission to like it, gasping a little as he rocks his hips gently to meet Tarrant's movements. It's easy to get lost in the rhythm, so much so it takes him by surprise when Avon tenses all of a sudden, and then a thick stream of fluid fills his mouth. He doesn't care much for the taste, but something about how it rushes out of Avon and into him sets his pulse racing, like a shot of pure adrenaline.

That high gets interrupted by a loud cough from behind him. Avon pops out of his mouth and it's like he's being woken from a dream, leaving Tarrant to scramble to understand what's happening.

"Ah, excuse me. My colleague and I were just finalising our cover story," says Avon, neatly tucking himself back in. "Dr. Haversen, I presume?"


End file.
